


My Brave Soldier

by colemlock01



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angst, Caring Sherlock, Date Rape, Lots of hurt and crying, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Assault, Sweet Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colemlock01/pseuds/colemlock01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John is drugged and attacked, he relies on the only man in the world he can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed, apologies for any mistakes. In addition- I am not, nor do I claim to be an expert in medicine nor in the treatment of rape patients. The majority of the procedure John receives was completely made up by me. Apologies if the inaccuracy is off putting.

Sherlock twirled the dials on his microscope and let a breath out of his nose. As much as he loved John’s company, it was nice to be about to get some work done. John had gone out for the evening to the pub with Lestrade and some other yarders so the flat was deadly silent. It was nice. Sherlock had got to a crucial point in his experiment when his phone buzzed on the table beside him. He looked at it longingly at it, wishing it would just unlock itself and read the message to him so he wouldn’t have to stop working. He sighed, he knew that wasn’t going to happen and if he ignored the message, which was probably from John, then he’d just keep receiving more. Reluctantly, he slid his thumb across the touchscreen to unlock the phone, the messages popping up straight away. It was from John. Sherlock frowned at his phone, something wasn’t right.

_Sherlock? I know you’re probably busy but I really need your help? Please? JW_

What could John possibly want? He was with Lestrade after all. With a small huff, Sherlock tapped out a blunt reply.

_I’m rather busy, John. Can it not wait? SH_

He pressed send and put his phone to the side again after locking the screen. His eyes had barely returned to the microscope when it buzzed again, making him grit his teeth. 

_Not really. Please it’s important. I’ve been attacked. JW_

Fear and panic rose in Sherlock’s throat. Even by just looking at the letters on the screen, Sherlock could tell that John really didn’t want to admit that. John would never admit when he was weak or defeated, it was just the soldier in him. It must be bad and that thought made Sherlock panic more. Without hesitation, Sherlock was up and out of his chair, shrugging on his coat before bolting from the flat. He went to the pub first. It was their local so it only took him about five minutes to jog there. It was where John and Lestrade always went for drinks so it was a start. Unfortunately, Greg was the only one he found.

“Where is John?” he asked immediately after he’d stormed up to the Inspector. 

“Hello to you too.” Greg scoffed, already annoyed with Sherlock’s attitude. “He went home. Said he was feeling a bit ill. He was only drinking orange juice, poor bloke. Why? Isn’t he back yet?” he asked with a small frown.

“He messaged me. Apparently he’s been attacked.” Sherlock replied, worry seeping through his composed exterior. Lestrade jumped to his feet the second Sherlock uttered the word ‘attacked’ but Sherlock ushered him back down.

“He asked for me. If he wants to go to the police, he’ll talk to you later.” He grumbled before darting from the pub, ignoring the shouts of protest from Lestrade. Dragging his phone out of his pocket, he began to tap out a message to John. 

_Went to the pub. Greg says you were headed home. Where are you? SH_

He didn’t bother putting the phone away, knowing the reply would be almost instant. He was right.

_I don’t know. I don’t remember. I must have been drugged. I can’t be far from the pub and I can see a road but nothing else. JW_

Sherlock frowned at the message. It didn’t exactly give him a lot to go on. He knew that John was close so began walking.

_Is there a road sign or anything? Look around you, what else can you see? SH_

_Sherlock, I can’t walk. I know I’m in an alleyway. I’m started flashing the SOS light on my phone towards the road so look for that. JW_

That was all the incentive Sherlock needed to start running, looking desperately down every gap in the buildings for any sign of John. He’d been looking for a few minutes when his phone buzzed again.

_Oh and Sherlock? Brace yourself alright? It’s not pretty. I’ve managed to deduce what happened so you’re going to know straight away. JW_

That made Sherlock swallow nervously and he ran faster, panting as his head jerked to check down another side street. Something caught his eye on the other side of the road. He could see a tiny light at the end of a particularly dark alley. _Dot Dot Dot, Dash Dash Dash, Dot Dot Dot_. John. Sherlock sprinted to his as fast as he could. He couldn’t see him straight away, it was only when he approached closer and knelt to John’s level that he could see the man properly, light from the open street spilling onto them. 

John was lying on his side and he was shaking a little, his face stained with tears and blood. His shirt was ripped and his jeans were undone and mucky with dirt. His forehead was bleeding and there was a graze covering his cheek. His palms were also grazed and the majority of his fingernails were bleeding. He was currently facing Sherlock so the detective wouldn’t be able to see the dark cloud that was currently seeping through his underwear and blooming on the rear of his jeans. Regardless of the state of him, John smiled weakly when he saw his friend. 

“Sherlock..” he breathed in relief, inching a hand forward towards him which Sherlock immediately took. Sherlock stared at him, eyes roaming over every inch. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find words. 

“John.” Was all he managed, squeezing his friend’s hand and hoping it made up for the reassurances he couldn’t make his mouth say.

“Hey, I’m alright.” John croaked, though a blind man could see that he wasn’t. “It’s too painful to walk and I won’t be able to sit in a taxi. You’re going to have to carry me somehow. Home, not the hospital. I can manage with this myself. I can’t stand either so when we get home, you’re going to have to help me undress and get into the bath, okay?” he instructed clearly. He was calm, unnervingly so, displaying none of the common signs of a victim of assault. John groaned and whimpered as he got himself into a relatively seated position. It was up to Sherlock to help him now. 

Sherlock nodded dumbly and stood, carefully helping John to his feet and supporting him with an arm around his middle and placing John’s arm around his shoulders. His army doctor limped behind him, trying to swallow the noises of pain that erupted with each step. They couldn’t make it back to Baker Street like this so Sherlock used his initiative and lifted John into his arms, carrying him like a groom would carry their recently wedded wife over the threshold. He expected John to complain but he said not a word. 

The walk back to 221B was longer now with the extra weight and the slow pace. He didn’t want to go too fast in case he hurt John anymore. They made it eventually, not a single word said between them throughout the journey and ignoring the odd looks from passers-by. It wasn’t until they were in the comfort of their own living room that John spoke. 

“Bathroom.” He mumbled and waited till Sherlock obliged and was under the harsh, luminescent light of their bathroom before he nodded to be put down. Sherlock did so delicately, angling his body so John’s feet would touch the floor and he wouldn’t have to jump down. Sherlock held him up and looked at him expectantly for the next instruction

“I need to get out of these clothes but I can’t do it by myself. I’m going to have to hold myself up on the sink and you can undress me.” He stated plainly, beyond caring that his flatmate was about to see him in his most vulnerable state. He turned in Sherlock’s arms and limped to the sink, bracing his arms on it and making sure he was steady before nodding at Sherlock to proceed. From this angle, Sherlock could see the dark patch that had spread over his bottom and was staring with his hand over his mouth, until a clear of the throat from John snapped him out of it.

He started on John’s shirt first. It was already torn so he just ripped it apart and off John’s skin so he wouldn’t have to move much. Now Sherlock could see the bruises. Most of them were generic until his eyes reached John’s hips. Either side were two handprints, bruised into his skin. They were so vivid that it was almost like someone had dipped their hands in paint before touching him. Sherlock swallowed the bile in his throat before starting on John’s trousers, moving slowly to avoid startling him. John’s breathing was steady regardless.

“Would you like to hear my deductions?” John pipes up suddenly. It was clear to the both of them that he was just trying to distract himself as his jeans fell to his ankles and he could feel the blood dribbling down the backs of his thighs. Sherlock gasped but composed himself, biting his lip a little.

“If you want to tell me, then yes. It might be helpful.” He replied calmly, hooking a finger into john’s boxers. He felt sick. The fabric was supposed to be white but they were now stained an angry red.

John cleared his throat before speaking. “Brick dust as well as imprints on hands and face, accompanied by grazing so, held against the wall. Grazing also present on thighs and genitalia, minor bleeding. He was tall enough to pin me entirely to the wall. Bruising to the hips and torso, he must have held me in place. Bleeding fingernails where I have apparently scratched at the wall. The sexual assault is clear from the location of the pain and bleeding. A tear I’d say, maybe he has a larger than average penis. All of this indicates a man who would normally be able to overpower me but he chose to drug me. Physical disability perhaps, familiar face or organised rape.” He says calmly. 

In another situation, Sherlock probably would have smiled; John was getting better at deductions. Instead, he helped John step out of the bloodied pile of clothes and made sure he was steady before leaving him to start running the bath. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, looking at John in the mirror.

“I’m going to look at your wound, John. You can stop me at any point but I need to know how bad it is.” He explained calmly. John nodded in the mirror so Sherlock got to his knees behind him and John spread his legs obediently. As gently as he could manage, Sherlock parted John’s bum cheeks in order to see the source of the bleeding. John had been right; it was torn and quite extensively so. It was about a centimetre long, down his perineum and there were other cuts surrounding the circumference of his anus. Who knows what internal damage there was. Sherlock stood with a sigh and leaned his forehead on John’s shoulder. “I will kill whoever did this to you.” He said through grit teeth.  
John shook his head lightly. 

“I don’t want to go to the police, Sherlock.” He whispered. “I’ll go to a doctor at most if I really have to but I’m keeping the police out of it. There’s no point. I was drugged, I can’t remember anything. We have no evidence, no one will get convicted.” He sighed sadly. Sherlock lifted his head and met John’s eyes in the mirror. 

“I could take samples?” he suggested quietly. John would know what that entailed. “I’ll be extremely gently, I promise you. I’ll stop whenever you want.” With that, John simply nodded. Sherlock nodded in return and darted away, returning a few seconds later wearing latex gloves and wielding swabs and plastic bags with a sharpie. He set to work immediately, swabbing with inside of John’s mouth in case he was forced to partake in oral sex before taking swabs of the hand prints on his hips. He also scraped some substance from under John’s nails in case of skin traces before he was on his knees again, murmuring apologies as he spread John’s cheeks apart again. He winced in sympathy as he inserted the swab, flinching at John’s yelp of pain. Sherlock did his best to be gentle but quick. He did a quick sweep before slowly pulling out the swap, grimacing at the red bud. Each swap and sample went into individual bags with appropriate labels and Sherlock set them aside. 

“Will you help me get into the bath?” John murmured in a quiet voice after a few long moments of silence. It had been long ready now, steam pluming from within the porcelain and beckoning John to it. He looked up and turned slowly, keeping a hand on the sink to steady himself. When Sherlock’s eyes met his, they were full and he was trying to blink away unshed tears. Sherlock looked at him sadly.

“Can I hug you?” Sherlock asked. It was common for rape victims to shy away from physical contact but John nodded, his composure crumbling for the first time since Sherlock picked him up. He let out a couple of quiet sobs as he stepped into Sherlock’s arms, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck and taking long breaths through his nose, hoping that the scent of Sherlock would soothe him. After a moment of embrace, Sherlock lowered himself so he could lift John again before stepping over to the tub and gently lowering him into it.

John sighed pleasantly at the sensation of the water on his skin and he hummed a ‘thank-you’. Plumes of red smoke blossomed in the clear water, gradually tinting it pink. Sherlock sat on the closed toilet seat, watching him sadly as the silence stretched between them. It was John who spoke first again, his body language making it clear that he wasn’t comfortable with what he was about to ask.

“Sh-Sherlock?” he stuttered and then frowned at himself. “I know it’s a stupid question, you can tell me no if you want. I’m just feeling a little.. I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m feeling. I just know that I really don’t want to be alone. Will I be able to sleep with you tonight? In your bed, I mean.” He asked nervously.

“Of course, John, whatever you need.” Sherlock replied immediately. He was a little hurt that John would be afraid to ask him something like that, especially at a time like this. Was he really that hostile? 

“This is nice.” John hummed. “Thank you, by the way. I just realised that I haven’t thanked you yet.” He added, looking over and smiling softly at Sherlock. “It’s nice to know that you’re here for me when I really need you.” Sherlock smiled at that.

“Always, John.” He nodded and then stood when he saw John’s face crumble. He knelt by the tub as his best friend sobbed relentlessly, stroking his shoulders and his hair soothingly. After a few minutes, John had calmed himself and was mumbling apologies to Sherlock as he wiped his face. “Don’t apologise to me John, just don’t.” he murmured and stood on his knees to press a kiss to John’s forehead. It was silent for a moment before Sherlock spoke again. 

"John, you know you shouldn't really be in the bath. Submerging your wound will only make the risk of blood loss greater." he said quietly, looking at John worriedly from his seat beside the tub, leaning his forearms on the rim. 

"I know." John sighed, his face screwing up briefly before he straightened it out. "I just feel so dirty, y'know?" he whispered, his full eyes meeting Sherlock's. "I don't how or where he touched me. I don't know if he used a condom, I don't know if he kissed me or anything like that. I know I'm probably making it worse, but I really need to feel clean right know, okay? I need to get him off me." he whimpered.

"I understand, John." Sherlock murmured in return. "How about you give yourself a good, quick wash and then you can get out. That way you're clean and you're not doing yourself any damage." he suggested softly, giving John's shoulder a brief rub. He understood the turmoil John was in but he couldn't ignore the medical warnings.

John managed to clean the blood off his skin without Sherlock’s assistance, making the water turn an even darker pink. Sherlock helped him out of the bath and John leaned against the sink again while Sherlock towel-dried his skin.

“Stay there a moment, I’ll get you some pyjamas.” Sherlock said softly, before leaving John stood, naked and shivering and alone in the bathroom. In Sherlock’s absence, John examined the damage in the mirror. The bruises would fade and the cuts would heal but he looked completely different. He would always be different. When Sherlock returned, he turned and stepped into some clean boxers, his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders to support himself. That’s when Sherlock noticed the graze on John’s penis; a friction burn from being held against the wall while his attacker thrust ruthlessly into him. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he pulled John’s boxers into place, soon followed by some stripy, flannelled pyjama bottoms. “Bed?” Sherlock asked as he stood, to which John nodded immediately. Sherlock tried to lift him again but John shook his head and gently pushed Sherlock’s hand away. He held onto Sherlock’s shoulders and began to limp. He would make it to the bedroom. He had to or he wasn’t fit to call himself a soldier.

They did make it, though it admittedly took longer. Sherlock held back the covers for John to slip into before changing into his own pyjamas and sliding in next to him. Sherlock wasn’t sure what he should do then, until John cuddled up to his chest. It felt natural to have his arms around John, his John.

“I owe you so much.” John murmured. “I dread to think what could have happened if you hadn’t come to get me.” He whimpers, shuddering at the thought. He shuffled up the bed so his face was level with Sherlock’s. “Thank you. I was-.. I was so scared. And now I feel safe.” He smiled softly and before he’d though about it, he closed the few final inches between their faces and kissed him. 

Sherlock froze. In an ideal situation, he’d be quite pleased to have John’s lips against his own. But now, it felt entirely wrong. John was vulnerable and he felt like he was taking advantage.

“John.” He murmured softly to get the doctor’s lips off his own. “Not now, eh? You’ve been through a lot. Probably not thinking straight-..”

“Oh shit, oh Jesus. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.” John interrupted him with hysteric ramblings. “Oh my god, what was I thinking? Oh god, I should go. I’m sorry.” He said hurriedly and sat up abruptly, suddenly crying out and shuddering in pain. Sherlock could only watch the blood seeping into his sheets. He didn’t care about that now. He pulled John gently back into his arms and held him close to his chest, saying and doing nothing other than being with him.

John fell asleep reasonably quickly considering his ordeal and Sherlock watched him for a while, listening to the rhythmic sounds of him breathing for a while before the sound made him drift off. 

John woke a few hours later, screaming and fighting to get away from Sherlock, out of his hold. It took him a few moments to remember where he was and who he was with before his face crumbled again and he shuffled closer to Sherlock as he sobbed. He didn’t cry as long this time before the sobs died away to snuffles and his tense body relaxed. Sherlock expected nothing less. The nightmares would probably continue for a while. Sherlock predicted they’d be sharing a bed more frequently.

“It’s alright, I’m here, and I’ve got you.” Sherlock soothed, running his fingertips up and down John’s spine and pressing his lips against John’s head. “I’ll never let you go again, my soldier. My brave soldier.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't all that they seem when John agrees to go to hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be seen as an alternate ending or a continuation of the first chapter, depending on how you want to see it. Things get alot angstier as well as some Johnlock. Unbeta-ed, apologies for any mistakes.

When Sherlock awoke again, it was to the sound of John trying to muffle his sobs as he shook against Sherlock’s chest. He had his hand clamped over his mouth to keep quiet, obviously trying not to wake Sherlock. His breathing was harsh and ragged through his nose- Sherlock was a little surprised that he hadn’t passed out yet. Sherlock didn’t say anything as he began running his hands up and down John’s spine. 

“I can’t get up.” John whimpered after a minute, sniffing loudly. “I tried to get up to get some water but it’s too painful. I know I said I didn’t want to but I think we need to go to the hospital.” He sighed, feeling defeated in his mind.

“Then to the hospital is where we will go. You’re being so brave, John. You don’t have to hold it in.” he murmured, stroking John’s cheek and wiping his tears away with his thumb. “Come on, I’ll help you up.” He said softly, detaching himself from him. “We won’t bother getting you changed again, you can just wear my coat to hide your pyjamas.” He told him as he scooped John from the bed and placed him on his feet. There was a blossom of blood on his bed sheets that told him that they were doing the right thing. 

Sherlock dressed quickly and fetched the samples he’d collected before slipping John into his coat and picking him up. John was in so much pain by this point that he’d become a little delirious. He lay pliantly in Sherlock’s arms, using his shoulder as a pillow as he was carried down and out of the flat. 

A taxi was just passing as Sherlock stepped out on the street and stopped for them, obviously noticing that something was a bit not good. Sherlock sat with John on his lap as the cab pulled away, but John began to fidget and whimper with discomfort. He slid from Sherlock’s lap and lay across the seat with his head on Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock stroked John’s hair absently as he looked out of the window, looking at every man who was walking along the street and thinking that any one of them could have done this to John.

They arrived at Bart’s within a reasonable time, the cabbie having seen the state of John and decided to put his foot down. Sherlock simply threw a fifty at him before climbing out and taking John into his arms once more. Things went from bad to worse when one Gregory Lestrade was leaving the hospital just as they were arriving, clearly having just been to examine a body at the morgue. 

“John? Sherlock? Jesus, what the hell has happened to him?” he asked instantly, marching over to them. 

Sherlock shot him a pleading look. “I can’t tell you, John has asked me not to. Can we do this another time? He really needs to see a doctor.” He says desperately, his arms growing tired from how much he’s had to carry John around. The man in question groaned in Sherlock’s arms.

“Just tell him, Sherlock. He can’t do anything about it unless I give a statement anyway.” He mumbled, shifting to get a bit comfier and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck, where he also buried his face. Sherlock looked him over before sighing and beginning to speak.

“The reason John was feeling ill at the pub is because his drinks were spiked. On his way home, he was shoved into an alleyway, raped brutally- so extensively so that he can’t walk or sit and is still bleeding. So if we’re done here, I’d like to get him to a doctor.” he said hurriedly before shoving past Lestrade and striking into the hospital, having felt John start to shake in his arms with unreleased sobs. 

“Hey, wait!” Lestrade called after them, jogging to catch up with Sherlock’s large strides. “What did he mean that I can’t do anything unless he gives a statement?” he asked as they waited at the main desk.

Sherlock sighed again. “He doesn’t want to report it. He says that he knows most rape cases go without conviction and he can’t remember anything so it makes it less likely. I’ve already collected samples but I assume they’ll do it again here, just in case he changes his mind.” Sherlock explains, growing irritated quickly that they hadn’t been seen to yet. Soon enough a nurse was present at the desk and Sherlock stepped forward. 

“My friend needs to see a doctor as soon as possible. I’m worried about internal bleeding.” He explains. “Don’t bother getting a wheelchair, he won’t be able to sit in it.” He adds, knowing her likely course of action. After getting them to fill out a form and some other admin stuff, Sherlock was lead to a room with Greg following not far behind. There, John was laid on the bed and left with a gown to change into so Greg and the nurse waited outside.

“You’ll need to help me again, sorry.” He mumbled as he slipped out of Sherlock’s coat. He managed to get himself upright with a hiss of pain but couldn’t get down. Sherlock had to lift him down and remove John’s pyjama bottoms while John held himself up on the bed. When John was gowned and lying back in the bed, the nurse fetched a doctor to do a proper examination and Greg slid back in and stood by the bed.

“Listen, John, we can catch the guy that did this to you. We can have him put away and make sure he doesn’t do it to anyone else.” He said softly, hoping he might be able to convince him.

“Greg, mate, I’m not questioning how well you can do your job, alright. Rape cases as a whole rarely result in anyone getting caught. I just don’t think I can go through it all to be disappointed. To have to relive it.. I can’t.” he whimpered, the tears starting to prick in his eyes. “Besides, even if you do catch him, I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to look into the eyes of the man that planned to do this. The man that has destroyed me.” He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, making tears slide down his temple. Greg tried to speak again but he was interrupted.

“That’s enough.” Sherlock hissed, pulling Greg away from the bed. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting him?! He’s been through enough, leave him the hell alone.” He snapped through grit teeth. Normally Greg probably would have argued, but he could see a small flame in Sherlock’s eyes that he knew would erupt if he said another word. With a nod, he left the room quietly, leaving John alone with Sherlock again.

“Sherlock?” he whispered, his hand tentatively reaching out for him. “Will you stay with me, while they’re doing whatever they’re going to do? It sounds silly but I don’t think I can be alone with another man. You keep me calm. I need you.” He smiled weakly and Sherlock took his hand, pulling up a chair to sit next to the bed.

“Of course I will. I’m not leaving until you send me away.” Sherlock told him softly, stroking his thumb over the back of John’s hand. They weren’t alone for long before a doctor came bustling in, followed by a nurse who was wielding all sorts of equipment. 

“Hello John, my name is Doctor Hunt. I’ll be seeing to your wounds.” He says calmly. He looked like quite a jolly, aging man with greying hair and slight stubble. He was quite attractive actually, John thought as he looked him over, looks a bit like George Clooney. “I understand that you’ve had a bit of an ordeal, so we’ll be performing a rape kit first of all to collect samples.” He carried on.

“Oh, no need. I collected samples the minute we got home.” Sherlock interrupted him, pulling out the polythene bags and wielding them at the doctor. “I followed all the usual procedures of a rape kit.” He explained. 

“Ah, that’s very helpful. Thank you, we’ll take our own samples as well, just as a comparison.” The doctor smiled, showing brilliantly white teeth as the nurse took the bags from Sherlock. They got straight to work, swabbing John’s mouth and cheeks, his buttocks, his genitals and finally inside him. John remained calm and pliant throughout, breathing deeply to soothe himself. “So that’s sorted, we’ll just be examining the damage now.” Hunt explained, dragging a trolley over with all the necessary equipment on. “It is likely you may experience some pain or discomfort.” He added as the nurse brought over a set of stirrups that would normally be seen during childbirth. John was instructed to lie flat on his back with his feet in the stirrups as Doctor Hunt tugged on some latex gloves and smothered his fingers in medical grade lubricant.

“I’m here, John.” Sherlock murmured, seeing the panic set in on his friend’s face and giving his hand a soft squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re being so brave, I’m so proud of you.” He said in a soothing voice as John just stared at the ceiling. He yelped as the doctor’s finger breached him, biting on his lip at the pain. The doctor explained that, in order to get a proper look, he would need to stretch John with his finger before applying an instrument similar to that used in dentistry to hold the patient’s mouth open for a better view. John breathed raggedly and squeezed Sherlock’s hand hard as he continued to be stretched. When it came to the instrument being inserted, John’s tears started up again. 

Once he was able to see, the Doctor alerted the nurse to fetch him the necessary tools to perform sutures. “I’m afraid the injury isn’t what I first suspected.” He sighed. “What I assumed was an anal fissure is actually a lot more complex. The exterior wound along the perineum is only part of the story. I can tell you that this injury wasn’t due to the penetration itself, it’s too clean, too precise. I’m afraid, Doctor Watson, that it looks like your attacker became frustrated with not being able to penetrate you properly and used a blade against the walls of your anal canal before assaulting you. The cut is along the entire wall of your anal canal, it's not possible for a wound like that to be the result of forced penetration.” He explained quietly. John looked at Sherlock, their faces mirroring pure horror. 

“Hang on, you’re telling me that the bastard that did this put a knife in him before raping him?” Sherlock asked in a disgusted tone, his hand remaining in John’s to reassure him. 

“I’m afraid it looks that way. A tear would not be this large or tidy. This wound was made by a knife.” He nodded solemnly. “I’ll stitch it to prevent the bleeding. These stitches should dissolve in a few weeks or so but you will need to be extremely careful when passing waste.” He explained before the nurse came back with the equipment. “We can numb the area for you, if you like?” he asked John, who shook his head, so the doctor proceeded without. 

“John.” Sherlock pressed quietly. “They can make it so it won’t hurt you. Wouldn’t that be better?” he asked softly. John merely shook his head again. All he needed to do was get himself in the right frame of mind. If he could see to someone else’s abdominal wound in the desert with a bullet wound in his own shoulder, he could manage some poxy stitches for crying out loud.

John practically bit through his lip as the doctor stitched up his wound. He didn’t yell or cry though. He was stronger than that. Blood formed in the small crevice that his lips made as he pressed them firmly together and soon dribbled down his cheeks as he stared at the ceiling, determined not to make a noise.

Sherlock held John’s hand to his lips, murmuring soothing appraisals even though John apparently didn’t need them. Although after a few moments, he began to make strange noises as he struggled to withhold his sobs. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as they filled with salty water and his chest heaved, making his body shake all over. The doctor paused and looked up.

“John, I need you to keep still for me, okay?” he said softly, waiting until he had calmed down enough to keep going. Sherlock stood and hovered over John’s face, holding his cheeks in his hands.

“Look at me, right at me.” He whispered. “You, John Watson, are the bravest man I know. But you don’t need to be brave now. They can give you something so it won’t hurt. You don’t have to put yourself through this.” He sighed, looking into John’s glistening eyes.

“I do.” John murmured back. “I won’t let him defeat me. I can do this. I can do this.” He said through grit teeth and nodded his head. “I can’t remember it. Do you know how lucky that makes me? So many people have to go through the ordeal of being conscious while their attacker abuses them, so why should I get off without having to go through that sort of pain? If I can’t remember the actual rape, I can certainly handle the pain of the treatment. I deserve to go through pain, Sherlock.” He explained and after a few deep, calming breaths, he was still again. 

Sherlock held John’s hand tightly the whole time, John’s expression barely changing while the doctor put stitches in his body. 

“Right, that’s all done now.” The doctor said softly. “We’ll keep you here to get some rest. You should be alright to go home in a few hours.” He added as he stood, taking John’s feet down from the stirrups so they could be taken away. “We’ll leave you to it.” He nodded to them before leaving, taking the nurse and all the equipment with them. 

John let out a breath and turned to look at Sherlock, smiling weakly at him. “You must be tired. You can go and get some coffee or some food if you like.” He says quietly. “I’ll be alright on my own for a bit, don’t worry.” He smiled reassuringly and gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze before letting it go.

Sherlock stood with a nod. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? I promise.” He says quietly, giving John’s hair a quick stroke before darting away. He’d returned within ten minutes with two plastic cups of hospital, bog-standard coffee. He opened the door quietly to find John curled up in his bed, facing away from the door. His entire body shook with quiet sobs, refusing to release them from the prison of his ribcage. He must not have heard Sherlock enter for he did not struggle to compose himself. He did not even try to prevent his body from shaking. It was not difficult for Sherlock to realise that John had sent him away purposefully to prevent him seeing the outburst. Sherlock sighed and approached the bed in silence, setting down the cups of coffee and placing a hand on John’s arm, making him jump.

“Sherlock..” he whimpered. “What did I do? Why was it me?” he sobbed, his hands balled into fists and clutching the sheets of the bed.

“I don’t know, John.” Sherlock said softly. “You didn’t deserve this, you’re a good man.” He murmured, sitting on the bed beside him and stroking his arm. John turned around to look at him, his face wet with tears and eyes red.

“Do you think less of me? I didn’t mean to get upset, I just couldn’t stop it.” He whispered. He sat up gingerly next to Sherlock, their faces inches apart. His eyes flickered from Sherlock’s eyes to Sherlock’s lips. He edged forwards slowly and licked his lips, his breath coming shakily from his mouth and blowing against Sherlock’s lips. “What is it about you? I should be scared to have you touch me. Yet..” he moves forward a tiny bit more. “Tell me it isn’t just me.” He whispers, his wet eyes meeting Sherlock’s. “Please.. Please tell me it isn’t just me.”

“John.” Sherlock breathed. “We shouldn’t.. I shouldn’t.” he murmured though he couldn’t help licking his lips. John’s breath caught as Sherlock’s tongue poked through those perfectly formed lips. The part of Sherlock’s brain telling him that this was wrong fizzled out at the sound and he moved the remaining space forward to meet John’s lips.

The kiss was soft, neither of them wanting to freak the other out. Their lips moved in sync, parting slightly and closing over each other before pulling away. The wet of John’s cheeks spread to Sherlock’s face but he didn’t care for that. All he knew is that John, his John, was here and he was okay and he was kissing him. John’s hands took Sherlock’s as he kissed him, stroking his thumbs over the pale skin and giving the occasional squeeze. They became so wrapped up in each other that they were almost one being. Like when two different colours of Play-Dough get mixed up together. The sound of a clearing throat sounded like the equivalent of a gunshot in the quiet room and the two men jumped apart with a gasp each.

“Alright, John? Just came to see how you were getting on.” Lestrade muttered awkwardly, blushing a little and rubbing the back of his neck as he rocked on his feet.

“I’m a little better, thank you. It was worse than we initially thought but I’ve had stitches put in. Should be able to go home in a few hours.” He smiled softly and lay back in the bed, pulling the blankets up to his chest.

“Worse? What do you mean worse?” Greg asked with a frown, looking between John and Sherlock as he waited for an answer.

“It would appear that John’s attacker decided that he would penetrate John with a knife before raping him.” Sherlock answered bitterly, turning to look at John and finding him unable to maintain his composure and so taking his hand reassuringly. Greg blinked at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? The sick bastard. I will find him, John. I promise you I will find him and he will pay for what he did to you.” He said adamantly before taking a seat beside the bed.

Greg stayed for a few hours, chatting with both Sherlock and John and making him feel comfortable- not like a rape victim. After a few hours, the hospital staff told John it was safe for him to go home. He could manage on his own now and, though he still limped and winced, he would not ask for assistance. 

**OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO**

Living with John in the few weeks after his incident was hard. Although he initially tried to sleep in his own bed again, his own high-pitched screams would wake him in the night and he’d cry himself to the point of a panic attack. 

“This can’t go on, John.” Sherlock had told him softly as he sat on John’s bed and wiped away his tears for the fourth time in five days. John had nodded and agreed to sleep downstairs in Sherlock’s bed from now on. The nightmares were only part of the difficulties. Noises would make him jump and bring him to the point of tears, he refused to go out in the dark and would flinch away from anyone who touched him that wasn’t Sherlock. It was hard for both of them but they both knew that they just had to be patient, that it would get better in time. 

Their relationship had also evolved, although not quite to the point where they would class themselves to be in a sexual relationship. They shared kisses every night before they both fell asleep and there was the night that John’s hand had slithered southerly as he and Sherlock kissed, ending in a pretty spectacular handjob. Despite how much he trusted Sherlock, John just wasn’t ready to have anyone touch him in a sexual manner, but that didn’t mean that John couldn’t touch Sherlock. Sherlock of course had protested, saying that he felt he was being selfish. John simply hushed him with a kiss. 

This night in particular, John had gone to bed and had fallen asleep before Sherlock came in- the detective at a crucial stage in an experiment, a man’s alibi depended on the results. Well, it did, until the familiar screaming filled the flat once more and, in his haste to reach John, Sherlock had sent petri dishes flying everywhere. 

Sherlock lay down beside John as the man cried, hushing him and stroking his hair and face. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay, I’m here.” He murmurs to soothe him. “You’re so brave, my brave soldier.” He says again, like he’s says every night. And he’ll continue to say every night since, as John would always be his brave soldier.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my word, I wrote something where I had to archive warnings. This is based on a prompt I've done on omegle a few times. Thank you and credit to anyone who recognises it and RPed with me. Unfortunately I don't know who those people are. Thank you for reading!


End file.
